


Group Project

by Juliette1713



Category: Northern Exposure
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28363056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliette1713/pseuds/Juliette1713
Summary: A fluffy AU I posted elsewhere in response to someone speculating about what Joel and Maggie would have been like in a world where they somehow met at the end of high school but, in every other way, were themselves...
Relationships: Joel Fleischman/Maggie O'Connell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Maggie was darkening the outermost set of concentric lines she’d drawn around the outside of the doodles at the top of her notes when she slowly became aware of her name being repeated.

“Miss O'Connell? Miss O'Connell? _Mary Margaret O'Connell_!” 

“Oh! Present.”

“Yes. I know that. We established as much at the start of class already. I was asking with whom you’d like to be paired for our debate segment. But since you are _busy_ at the moment, I will pick for you - your partner _and_ your topic. You may visit with me after class for your assignment.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Burns, who narrowed them right back before continuing. “Now class…”

Damn. She’d been hoping to pair up with Blake. Sure, he was stupid, but not _that_ stupid. He was in this AP history class, after all. And their grade wouldn’t have been a problem - she could carry anyone, even a straight C borderline honors student like him. Preparing for a debate would have meant weeks and weeks of research and close contact, too. She’d had a little crush on him for months now, and this would have been the way to peel him off of Debbie Drexler, once and for all. Double damn.

She turned and stared sullenly out the window at the blue sky, laced with high, thin clouds and then watched a big plane cut across them, making a slow turn towards the international airport over in Wayne Country. A Northwest 747, it looked like. Four contrails meant four engines. She felt the strange sensation she did every time she saw a plane - a burning desire to do… _something_. She wasn’t sure what. Travel, probably - get the hell out of Grosse Pointe, definitely. She’d done all she could here and was ready to get started with whatever came next. All that stood in her way was finishing her senior year. This debate crap was probably her last big project, too.

She’d sewn up top ten in her graduating class already, if she could keep the A she had in Mrs. Burns’ class. Which shouldn’t be a problem, no matter how big of a bitch Mrs. Burns wanted to try to be about the project. She’d aced every test and never even opened the textbook. Same with AP English - although she had to admit she’d actually read (and loved) Wuthering Heights. She was also captain of the cheerleading team, homecoming queen, class treasurer, a four-year letter winner in tennis, and had her pick of gorgeous dates to prom, at least based on the rumor mill. She had had the perfect high school experience. Deep down, though, she had to admit she was bored. And that life was boring.

None of this had been hard, was part of the problem. School had always come easily to her, and once she figured out how to hide her smarts from the mostly stupid popular kids, she’d been pretty adept at balancing the social and the academic. But it was all so boring. She needed more adventure than who was dating who at the country club or who got which car for their sweet sixteen. Where on earth she’d find that adventure, she had no idea, but it was pretty clear it wouldn’t be in Grosse Pointe, Michigan.

She watched the 747 move out of view as it passed just beyond the clear glass of the classroom window and behind the frame and wall. In its place, though, appeared a small, single engine prop plane. Red and white striped. It was turning, too, like the jet had been when she first saw it, but where the jet made a slow, graceful turn, the small plane’s wings wobbled and its arc wavered as it came around. She could see it moving up slightly and then down, the late afternoon’s air currents pushing it around the sky. She imagined being at the controls, pulling hard against the plane pulling back the other way, straining to stay in control, hearing the wind pass over the noisy cockpit as she just hoped she’d make it back down to the ground. That same surge of adrenaline and yearning and restlessness pulsed through her, but stronger than before. Huh. Maybe she’d -

“Mary Margaret!”

Shit. The class was gone, and it was just Mrs. Burns staring at her. Angrily. Apparently the bell had sounded somewhere along the way. How long had she been watching that plane for?

“There will come a day, my dear girl, when your penchant for daydreaming will catch up to you. Just because you’re able to float along on your innate intellect in this school does not mean you’ll always be able to. The world demands hard work of people. Or you’ll be left behind. And then where will you be? Without having ever learned to push yourself any harder than you needed to to just get by?" 

Adults were always saying shit like that - what the hell did they think was going to come of it anyway? Maggie stifled an eyeroll. Mrs. Burns shook her head as if realizing the conversation - and Maggie along with it - were a lost cause. 

"Nevermind. When you’ve packed up your things, please come up here to discuss your debate topic with me.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Burns,” Maggie mumbled, feeling herself blush. To tell the truth, she was much more embarrassed that she felt so strongly about the plane without knowing why than she was that she’d gotten in trouble. Who gave a shit whether she left on time anyway? It was the last class of the day - Mrs. Burns was probably just pissed off she couldn’t go grab her after school smoke in the teachers’ lounge and flirt with Mr. Mason, the repulsive boys’ gym teacher. The woman reeked like an ashtray whenever Maggie got within five feet of her. She approached her desk and stopped as far away as was arguably socially acceptable and tried to look repentant and forget about the plane.

“Your topic, Miss O'Connell, will be the limits of gun control and the interpretation of the second amendment of the Constitution of these United States.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. Mrs. Burns had never - not once in the entire year she’d had her - said ‘United States’ without tacking a pretentiously unnecessary 'these’ out front of it. As if they’d be talking about any other united states in a fucking AP American history class.

“And your partner will be -”

“Oh _no_. Absolutely not. No way,” came a new voice from the doorway. “You’re sticking me with the _prom queen_?”

Maggie turned to look at the door and the voice’s owner. _Oh God_. No. Anyone but Joel Fleischman.

“Ah, Joel. Right on time. So you and Mary Margaret are already acquainted then?”

“Kind of. Not really. Look. Mrs. Burns,” Joel started, trying to sound in control and patient but doing a pretty poor job of both. “I have extremely limited time for this project. I have a full slate of classes all morning - _college_ classes, and I have to make a special trip over here, just to do this. Can’t I just write a research paper or something to finish? I did that for AP English 12. This my last credit. And I have 15 hours of applied and physical sciences this semester. Including molecular biology.” Mrs. Burns seemed unmoved and unimpressed which made Maggie smirk and then laugh at the contrast between Joel’s haughty attitude and Mrs. Burns’ abject disinterest therein.

“Yeah? What’s so funny?" Joel’s superior attitude started to deteriorate, replaced by a self-conscious and childishly petulant one, brought about in response to Maggie’s dissmissiveness.

"You. You’re so full of yourself.”

“Yeah, well, in case you didn’t know, I’m pre-med currently. I finished high school in two years so I could finish college in two and a half more and then start med school at 19. I’m the second youngest student Columbia’s ever accepted.”

“Congratulations,” Maggie said, as inauthentically as she could. “If you graduated already, why are you standing here right now?”

“Joel finished high school early, but he has to complete the four full years of English and history required by the state to receive his diploma,” Mrs. Burns supplied, when Joel only narrowed his eyes at Maggie in response. “He has an understanding with the college that he will finish his classes here contemporaneously with his collegiate coursework. Which means he - and you - will complete the required research topic, which I have structured for my class in a debate format. Your primary source materials will be the arguments of the founding fathers and the primary and dissenting opinions of the Supreme Court.”

“Of _these_ United States,” Maggie added, garnering another scornful look from Mrs. Burns.

“And I cannot think of a more well-suited pairing than the two of you,” she said, fussily bundling her desk papers up and sticking them into the attache case she carried from class to class, as if she were some high-paid trial lawyer and not a high school history teacher. “You have two weeks. The debates will be in the auditorium on May 8th, and you’ll be arguing on the pro side of the topic.” She headed for the door. “Joel can fill you in on the format and rules. I’m sure you know he was a state finalist as a sophomore…”

“Who _doesn’t_ know that,” Maggie said, sarcastically, “We were all incredibly impressed.”

For whatever reason, that comment represented the end of Mrs. Burns’ patience, and she left without saying another word. Joel was standing just inside the door and watched her pass through it in dismay before closing his eyes briefly and reopening them wearily, looking at Maggie. The room was silent for several seconds. Maggie arched an eyebrow at him, which made him smirk back at her. She felt a little jolt she didn’t recognize.

"Okay,” he started. “What’s our topic, prom queen?”

“That’s twice you’ve said that and been wrong. I was the homecoming queen, not prom queen.”

“Big difference. My mistake, Mary” he said, seeming not the least bit sorry. “Topic?”

“Guns,” Maggie said acerbically, picking her backpack up angrily and walking towards the door, passing Joel without slowing.

“Wait,” he said, sounding whiny. Oh God, what had she done to deserve this, anyway? She’d had two classes with him before, and he was insufferable. Arrogant and pedantic and condescending - the type of guy that read all the optional extra reading and did his own research outside of class to supplement the textbook. “That’s it? Just 'guns’? And we’re pro? Or what?” He was at her elbow now, following her down the hallway. “Slow _down_. We have go to the library. Work on this. Come up with a schedule. Compile a source list. Investigate the -”

She stopped suddenly, and he ran into her. She slung the backpack he’d knocked off over the other shoulder and turned to glare at him.

“No, _we_ are not going anywhere. Not together anyway. _I_ have cheerleading practice.”

Joel took his turn at rolling his eyes. “You’re a _cheerleader_ , too? Great. You know, I don’t have time to do this whole project by myself…”

“Why would I _ever_ let you do any part of _my_ project?”

“Oh, please. You should be so lucky… I’m ten times smarter than you are." Anyone else would have had some nascent sense of shame, hearing those words come out of their mouth. Not Joel. What he may have had in smarts, he wholly lacked in the area of people skills. And humility.

She felt herself bristle and folded her arms across her chest. "And based on what, exactly, are you making _that_ assertion?" Her expression cowed him a little, and threw him off enough that he stumbled over his answer. 

"Nothing. No. I just…I didn’t mean that… I don’t know. It’s just that you’re a cheerleader. And the prom quee-”

Whatever look was on her face shut him up fast as she took a step closer, feeling furious.

“I keep telling you, I was _homecoming_ queen. _Not_ prom queen. There is no such thing as a prom queen. Which you’d know if you’d gone to prom. Or had so much as a hint of a social life for the brief time that you graced us all with your presence here.”

“I have a girlfriend," Joel said, sounding very defensive. "For the record. And therefore a social life.”

“ _Had_ a girlfriend. Elaine, right? Elaine Shulman? You guys broke up 6 months ago. She’s going out with Danny Goldman now. He’s taking her to prom. Everyone knows that.”

“Yeah, well…” He blushed a little and couldn’t come up with a response to that.

“So much for your social life. And since we’re clarifying things ‘for the record’, I have a 3.97 GPA and got a 35 on the ACT, which was good enough for Michigan to give me a full ride next year. Meanwhile, _you_ are bragging about taking classes at a community college.”

She reached forward and tore the corner off the cover of spiral bound notebook he had subconsciously clutched to his chest when he realized how badly he’d pissed her off moments ago. His eyes widened a little at the sudden movement and her angry look. She pulled a pen clipped to her backpack off and scribbled her parents’ phone number on the back of her stolen scrap, trying hard to push away her brain’s unhelpful and entirely disloyal thought that he had really pretty eyes. And that they sparkled when she argued with him.

“My number,” she said, slapping it back against his chest harder than she had to. He flinched slightly in response before reaching up to take it in his hand. “Don’t phone after nine, my dad goes to bed early.”

She turned around and left him standing there staring at her. This project was going to be hell, based on how things had gotten started. When she was fifteen feet away or so, guilt stopped her, and she turned back around. She tried for a slightly more conciliatory tone. “Look. The topic is gun _control_. And the Supreme Court’s historical interpretation of the validity thereof. You’re here anyway, so go to the library. Look up _US v Miller_. 1939.”

“By myself? I’m not going to do this project _for_ you, you know.”

“I’m not asking you to. I want to get a _good_ grade, not whatever you’d earn me. I’ve already read that case. I actually know a lot about this. I’m just trying to make sure you’re up to speed before we start working on it.”

His face unfroze and he gave her a small, dimpled grin and his eyes got that same twinkle in them. “Yeah? And why’s a cheerleader able to cite Supreme Court case law off the top of her head, anyway?”

 _Not just pretty eyes, but he was really kinda cute_ , came another thought out of nowhere. She banished it quickly.

“'Cause I’m gonna go to law school someday. And my dad collects guns. For your information, I’m _captain_ of the cheerleading team. And don’t _ever_ call me Mary again.”

“No problem. I’ll talk to you tonight, _O’Connell_.”

“You do that... _Fleischman_ ,” she said, turning to stalk away from him. She couldn’t force the smile off of her face, thinking of his…


	2. Chapter 2

“Mary Margaret?” Maggie had been lolling, bored on her bed when heard her mother’s voice seconds before her knock. She looked up from the book that had been too awful to have kept even her half-attention. The same book her mother saw and frowned at the second she opened the door.

“Yes, Mother?” Maybe someday she'd be able to say those words without sounding snide and pissed off. Maybe when she was thirty. Or _forty_. Whenever Grosse Pointe was nothing more than a distant memory. At eighteen, though, she usually did a terrible job of concealing her disdain for her mother's, well... mothering. _Smothering_ was more like it.

“Can you turn down that awful music? I can hardly hear myself think, with that noise on.” _Big loss_ , Maggie thought to herself, but stood up to turn the music down anyway. She’d learned long ago that fighting with her mother was usually a losing proposition, but politely irritating her mother always left her the winner. She dogeared the page she’d been on in her book and tossed it conspicuously face up on the bed, in what was she hoped was going to end up being a confrontational gesture.

“Sure,” Maggie said, curtly, waiting for her mother’s scandalized response to the bodice-ripper she’d been reading. She turned the dial halfway down on the radio, technically complying with the request while purposely keeping things squarely within the realm of ‘still too loud for Jane O'Connell.’ She snuck a peek in time to see the first sign of payoff - her mother’s sour expression, directed at the item laying on her bed. It was clearly on of ’those’ books, from its cover featuring an oil painting of a half naked couple writhing together in front of a castle to the embossed, gilded font of its sleazy-sounding title.

At least it would be sufficient to annoy Jane; it was a real piece of shit, unfortunately, as literature went. Maggie had only borrowed it from her best friend out of boredom and a desire to scandalize her mother by being seen possessing it. Debbie'd gushed about it, but it was badly written, with predictable plotting, empty characters and, most disappointingly, boring dirty parts - the only other reason she’d borrowed it. Plus, the couple had fallen in love at first sight and into bed together by page 23 - and where was the fun in _that_? 

Jane said nothing, but pursed her lips at Maggie for a moment. “Is your homework done? I’d hate to think you were _frittering_ your time away up here.”

“Yes,” Maggie lied. It was as good as done, anyway, and she’d finish it before it was due tomorrow.

“Good. You have a phone call. A _boy_.”

With that, Maggie started for her desk chair, smiling. Maybe it was Blake. Or Danny. Ugh, or even Jed might be okay. At least then she might be able to finagle going sailing or midnight swimming or something else fun that she wasn’t allowed to do. If she could put up with him fawning all over her…

“Joel…something or other," he mother continued, watching Maggie for a reaction to try to gauge just what Maggie felt about her caller. "I didn’t recognize his name from the club. Seems very polite, though. Very well-spoken.”

Maggie felt her posture change, slumping irritatedly down in her chair. “Oh _God_. He’s just my debate partner.”

“Debate?” Jane frowned. Maggie’d joined just about every club at school, much to her mother’s delight, but academic clubs were frowned upon. A lot. “You’re involved in debate?”

“No. History assignment.”

Jane continued frowning. “I still don’t know why you took the advanced placement courses this semester. You already got accepted to college. And the junior league does that lovely spring fundraiser you could have been on the committee for. If you hadn’t had all that extra work.”

Maggie reached impatiently for the phone. No matter how smug and irritating Joel could be, he didn’t hold a candle to her mother and thus now presented an escape. However unappealing.

“I have a phone call, Mother. Can you hang up the other extension? And not listen in on my private conversation for once?”

“So…this Joel is a _private_ conversation, is he? Interesting…”

“Good _bye_ , Mother,” Maggie said, turning her back to Jane and holding the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?” Came an impatient-sounding voice on the other end of the line just as she heard Jane leave and close the door behind her.

“So we meet again, _Doctor_ Fleischman. You read that case I told you to?" It was exactly the right case, and she was eager to have him tell her that.

"I’m not sure where you ever got the impression that I would eagerly say 'how high’ when you say 'jump’. But, in this one, single instance, yes I did.”

“ _And_?” What the hell was she pushing so hard for validation on this for, anyway? Especially from him?

“I don’t know. I guess it might help, in its own way…" _What the hell!?_

"In its own _way_? Fleischman, that is the _seminal_ case in support of legal gun restrictions in the U.S.”

“Maybe in a certain light…”

“In a certain light?! Did you actually read it? It literally parses the well-regulated militia language to find its application to the rest of the clause. Which is ridiculous, if you ask me, but… I mean. You _did_ read it? Right?" Maybe all those science classes had melted the part of his brain that was literate. She thought about saying so.

"Of course I did. I just happen to disagree with the -”

“With the _Supreme Court_? There’s nothing to disagree with here. And this is squarely on point. The Court is the sole arbiter on this, and they found that there is no such thing as an unfettered guarantee to guns, of whatever nature. And that something like a homemade sawed-off shotgun bears zero relationship to the concept of a well-regulated -”

“Mary Margaret, you need to speak more slowly. And don’t interrupt someone while they’re talking, dear. Especially a polite young man like Joel.”

“Mother! I specifically asked you not to listen in on my conversation." 

"It was hard to hear you over that music you had on. And I just wanted to let you know I’m hanging up the downstairs extension now. It was very nice to speak with you earlier, Joel.”

“Likewise, Mrs. O'Connell,” Joel said, sounding wary and uncomfortable. The sound of the phone clicking into its cradle downstairs came through the line a moment later.

Great. Her mother just couldn’t resist 'helping’ Maggie with boys. Not that Joel counted as a boy, but Jane had no reason to know that. Maggie needed zero help in that department, either, other than to keep boys as far as possible away from her mother’s notice…

“Look,” Joel jumped in, trying to ignore her mom's interference. “Don’t get me wrong, I hate guns, too. But I don’t see how that case -”

“You hate _guns_?”

“Of course I do. They’re deadly weapons. I’m gonna be a doctor. They’re diametrically opposed to - wait, don’t you?”

“What do go hunting with, if not a gun?”

“ _You_ hunt?”

“Yes.” She felt herself getting defensive - how did he do that? Normally, she didn’t give a damn about what other people thought. She was usually smarter and more capable than whoever she was talking to, so any aspersions other people cast her way were wrong, as far as she saw things. But every small bit of dismissiveness from him cut right to the self-consciousness she rarely had to grapple with.

He laughed then, and she pictured his dark, sparkling eyes and that little grin he’d flashed her earlier before giving those thoughts the hardest mental shove she could out of her brain. No way was she letting that kind of thought gain a foothold in her brain.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“About a gun-toting cheerleader? The humor seems pretty self-evident, O'Connell. Who hunts in the richest suburb in America, anyway? That’s what grocery stores are for.” He paused few seconds and then added, “Anyway, it’s patently ridiculous for anyone not in the military or police force to own a gun in the first place. Don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to disagree with that.”

His voice had that tone from Mrs. Burns’ classroom before. That one where she could tell he cared a lot less about the content of his words than how they were being received by her. And he had to know that they’d piss her off, given what she just said and how she'd told him earlier that her dad collected guns. He was doing this on _purpose_. She felt that same little jolt she had earlier, her hackles yet again.

“I’m sorry, are telling me that I am _dumb_? That the _second amendment_ is dumb? I sure hope this isn’t the cornerstone of your debate argument.”

“No. I’m saying gun ownership is dumb. It’s not my fault you believe in something stupid.” If it weren’t completely crazy, she could have sworn his voice had turned slightly flirtatious. But who flirted by arguing about the Bill of Rights?

And yet, somehow, she realized she was smiling. Smiling, and wanting nothing more than to settle into her chair, put her feet up on her desk, tuck the phone against her ear, and see how long they could keep their argument going. Which she did. It turned out they couldn't argue for terribly long about guns, but everything else their conversation wound through that night gave them plenty of room to disagree. She stopped wondering pretty quickly whether he was flirting - she _knew_ he was. And despite her better intentions, she found herself doing it right back. They didn’t hang up until 2:45 am. And she didn’t manage to fall asleep until 4. He’d made her feel unsettled and elated all at once - like that tiny plane had earlier - drawn like a magnet to something she’d never considered before without really knowing why...


	3. Chapter 3

“Psst, Mag,” Debbie whispered, batting Maggie’s arm playfully with a green and white pompom. Maggie was paying half-attention, smiling at Blake, who was making a slow, loping warm up run around the track in his green team shorts. Cheerleading was silly enough sometimes, when Maggie really got to thinking about it, but cheering at track meets was on a whole other level of wasting time. They usually just stood around and gossiped. And watched the boys.

“Maggie,” Debbie said, more urgently, tapping her again.

“What?” She hoped Debbie hadn’t seen where she’d been looking. Blake hadn’t asked _her_ to prom yet, either, so Maggie was ever hopeful that she could get in under the wire. Debbie sure didn’t need to know that was the plan, though.

“You’ve got yourself a fan. Two o'clock. Halfway up the bleachers on the right. Dark hair. Blue shirt. Watching you.”

Dark hair? Oh God... Maggie scanned the stands, worried. Hopefully Jed had finally taken no for an answer on prom. She’d said it twice now already, and if he thought showing up to bother her at the district track meet while she was cheering was going to change her mind…

“He’s kinda cute. Looks familiar, too - who is he?” Debbie asked the question just as Maggie saw him. Joel. He saw her find him and make eye contact, but he didn’t wave or smile like a normal person would have; he just made a face that she knew from fifty feet away was a sarcastic “nice outfit.” She felt herself blush and looked away.

“Joel Fleischman,” Maggie said, as nonchalantly as she could. What on earth was he doing in the stands at a high school track meet anyway?

“Oh...yeah... I think I remember him. Nerdy guy. He was in freshman geography class with us, right, with Mr. Miller? Graduated early or something, didn't he?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s my debate partner on Burns’ project.”

“ _Ohhhh_ , so he _is_ here to see you. Maggieee…” Debbie’s voice turned teasing fast. “I think he’s got a crush on you…”

“Shut up, Deb. It’s bad enough I have to do this project with him in the first place. The last thing I need is people thinking… anything like that. I’m sure he’s not here to see me. I'm just glad it wasn't Jed again.”

“Speaking of... did he ask you to prom yet?”

Despite her relief about the change in topic, Maggie felt herself make a face. “No,” she lied. “Let’s hope it stays that way, too.”

“Why are you always so weird about Jed? He’s cute. Kinda. And rich. _Very_.”

“He’s also stupid, pushy, self-centered, and obnoxious. Oh, and my mom wants me to go out with him. So, it’s never gonna happen.”

“He’s still watching you,” Debbie said, nodding Joel’s way again. “Your study buddy.”

“I’ll go see what he wants, and maybe he’ll go away,” Maggie said bending down and picking both pompoms up in her left hand before setting off for the stands. She had to put an immediate stop to Debbie’s line of thinking before it spread to anyone else.

With her free hand, she pointed down at the front row, glaring at him, and he stood and started towards her. They’d already had a whole conversation without saying a word, which was weird. They’d spent hardly any time together in person. But three nights in a row, they’d talked on the phone. For a long time. The calls all started out about the debate - the night before last, he’d uncovered something she grudgingly had to admit was a good find in one of the Federalist Papers so she’d steered him to two other high court cases. Then, last night, she'd explained them to him. He was just too scientifically minded, and couldn’t operate in gray areas like constitutional law. Not that he’d ever admit that, so she pretended like he already understood what she was explaining in order to get him to listen to the explanation. And he pretended he didn’t know she was doing it to save face. But once they’d finished with their work, they'd not hang up. They’d talked well past midnight each night. It was weird. But fun. Only now here he was in real life.

Dodging runners, she trotted over to where he’d climbed down to, at the front corner of the stands. In transit, she was trying to shift her mindset into academics. To navigate the various and conflicting worlds in which she lived, she had to be sort of a social chameleon - taking on the behaviors and personality traits of those around her. She was usually fast at making the switches, but Joel was proving inimitable. And he was smirking at her from the gate at the bottom of the stands, making her feel defensive before either of them even said a word.

“ _What_?” Okay, it wasn’t your standard greeting, but then again neither was smirking haughtily at someone.

“Is that your uniform?” 

“No, Fleischman, this is what I wore to school today. Which just so happens to be what the other eight girls standing over there are wearing.” He was still eyeing the hemline of her pleated skirt. And then the inch of skin peeking out between the top of it and the bottom of her sweater. “ _What_?!”

“It’s a short skirt. That’s all.” His eyes had that sparkle as they met hers again. Was he teasing her about her outfit…or was his reaction something else altogether? " _Very_."

“Boy, your observational ability is incredible, you know that? It’s _supposed_ to be short. You can’t do a high kick in an ankle-length dress.”

“Sure. Athleticism is why they dress you that way.”

“Did you come here for a reason? You spend a lot of time at a high school you left two years ago, you know that?”

“I came here to talk to you. About the assignment, I mean,” he added the second sentence hastily, as if to squelch any doubt about his motivations. Which only served to sow some within Maggie.

“In the middle of a track meet? I’m busy - I'm supposed to be cheering right now.”

“I’m sure those guys’ll run just as fast without your little pompoms out there. Or your high kicks. Don't delude yourself, O'Connell. You’re not doing anything. You’re just set dressing.”

“ _Set_ dress-”

“Look, I didn’t come to argue with you about the necessariness of cheerleading. I’ve been thinking. Why are we limiting ourselves to just Supreme Court cases?”

Maggie felt her foot starting to tap impatiently. “Because those are the confines of the assignment? Weren’t you listening? You were supposed to -”

“No. No, you’re not understanding me.”

“No, you’re not making yourself _understood_. There’s a difference. And Burns said we were limited to cases and things the founding fathers actually wrote. I’ll give you that Federalist Paper thing the other day was an okay idea, but you’re going to go _way_ off topic here with -”

“For once in your life, will you just shut up and listen? Stop assuming you’re the smartest person in the conversation; it’s insufferable. As is my being paired with you on this.” He looked frustrated and closed his eyes for a second, she assumed to collect himself. She smiled - she was pretty sure he never had someone challenge him, and he was fun to knock off-balance like this. “I just mean, why aren’t we looking at cases the court chose not to hear? I mean, isn’t declining to speak a manner of speaking, too? If someone appeals a decision and they refuse to hear it, isn’t that something we can use, too?”

 _Damn_. He actually had a good point. And she should have thought of it first. But he had just called her insufferable and implied he was smarter than her again, so avenging that suddenly became her brain’s highest and most urgent priority.

“You have to be, without question, the most arrogant, obnoxious, sanctimonious, rude, socially inept -”

Instead of being embarrassed, apologetic, or even annoyed, he just grinned at her again.

“Looks like I’m on the right track, then, if you’re getting this mad.” He shifted the backpack hanging from his left shoulder to his right. “And since it looks like you’re currently busy with this extremely _vital_ work here, I’m going to hit the library and check on this. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

He turned to leave, and she kept glaring at the back of his head. She'd been winning that argument. How had he turned it upside down and gotten the better of her so quickly? She hadn’t fully switched to the right frame of mind to debate constitutional law, standing in this ridiculous outfit, toting pompoms around, with Debbie watching her talk to Joel and suspecting…whatever it was she did.

“Hey,” she shouted back up at him. He turned around abruptly and trotted back down the seven steps he’d scaled just a moment before, resuming his station at the fence. He was still smirking.

“What now?”

“Gun Control Act of 1968. Surely there’s been people who’ve sued over that in the last 10 years or so. See if that’s made its way up ever. It clearly hasn’t ever been heard by the high court.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks, O’Connell,” he said, before looking behind her and then back at her again. “Hey, and I thought you’d want to know, that guy there has spent the last five minutes pretending to stretch but staring at you.“

Maggie turned to look over her shoulder at Blake, as it turned out, one knee folded under him alongside the track. He winked at her when he saw her turn. Joel chuckled, and Maggie whipped back around to look at him, blushing.

"He’s probably just admiring your... _athleticism_ , I’m sure.”

“You are _such_ a -”

“See ya, O'Connell,” he said, turning again to go, before tossing back over his shoulder, “And you can do better than him. Trust me.”

She watched him go, rooted to the spot.


	4. Chapter 4

They’d gotten an A. An A- _plus_ , actually - the highest grade in the class. It had been kinda fun, too. In a dorky, cerebral sort of way. They’d been assigned to debate against Rob Husert and David King - both huge nerds and aggressively competitive about it for some reason. Their opponents had nodded respectfully at Joel but then smirked at each other when Maggie follow him out onto the stage. She saw it, and it cut right to her self-confidence. Maggie usually knew she was good at most everything she did and consequently almost never felt like other people were laughing at her as a result. This debate thing was new, definitely not her scene, and scared her a little. Not that she’d tell Joel that. 

“What the hell is their problem?” Maggie whispered to Joel as she sat down next to him, trying to ignore the audience filled with the rest of Mrs. Burns’ students staring up at them. That wasn’t helping, either. She didn’t have stage fright, so far as she knew, but she also never had to show her smarts in front of other kids like this. Usually just the teachers knew. And she liked it that way.

“Oh. Well…” Joel had clearly seen it, too, and was hesitating to give her his answer.

“Well _what_?” She didn’t have patience for anyone dancing around a subject, especially him. He’d never once, not in two weeks of them knowing each other like this, moved to spare her feelings. She watched him pretend to scan the crowd, evading her eye.

Her gaze fell for a moment to the knot of his tie. She’d retied it for him just before they were called on stage, and it looked infinitely better than before. He’d shown up having tied it himself, and it was not only crooked but the knot was sloppy and loose. They fought about her fixing it - he called her superficial to focus on something so far from substantive. She retorted that just because he lacked dignity, he probably didn’t want his arguments to, especially when it was the last thing between him and moving down the path towards his MD. He grumbled and gave in, but it looked better. While she restraightened it, he gave her that dimpled half-smile of his. She found herself suddenly thinking that he looked surprisingly cute, all dressed up in his coat and tie, before chasing that thought right the hell away. She really needed her brain to stop thinking things like that. And for him to answer the damn question.

"C'mon, tell me. We’re about to debate these guys; I need to know what they think they have on me.”

"No, you don't. Don't worry about it. You'll do fine."

"Yes I _do_. Now tell me."

“Okay, okay. Without a way to say it any more diplomatically than this… you’re a girl.” His hand ruffled his hair nervously as his eyes finally met hers, and, for once, he looked apologetic. “You’re a girl, and so they think they’re smarter than you. They aren’t. You know that. So don’t let it bug you.” He tapped his note cards twice against her knee and gave her a small smile.

Knowing that combined with Joel's simple pep talk was all Maggie’s nervousness needed to evaporate into a fit of self-righteous determination. Those assholes. She and Joel won. Handily. She did damn well for herself, too. Joel was good at this - _very_ good, but she’d spent the last two weeks studying the topic and then practicing arguing with someone smart late into the night. She did great, if she did think so herself. She was still riding high on her success that night, when he’d called at 8:30 as usual. Only now it wasn’t quite so usual anymore - him calling without the excuse of working on their project.

For the last two weeks, he’d call, and they’d talk a while about their research and their arguments. Within twenty minutes, though, they’d move on to something else. They’d talk for hours, too. She'd put her pillow at the foot of her bed so the phone cord would stretch far enough that she could lay down, snuggled under her quilt and prop the phone against her ear. She’d never talked to a boy on the phone like this - not that Joel counted as a boy. Her usual simpering, giggly act wasn’t something she even considered, talking to him. They argued, sometimes, but mostly just moved fast from topic to topic, challenging each other and, every now and again, finding room to agree. It was fun in a way she never had with other kids her age. Last night, as they had their project wrapped up, she’d started to worry she might miss this once he had no excuse to call. Miss it a _little_. So tonight’s call had surprised her. He started out on topic, rehashing the debate - and they talked through everyone’s performances, including their own.

“You were good, today, O'Connell,” he’d concluded. She almost fell out of her chair. Joel wasn’t usually generous with his praise, other than to himself. She’d expected to garner maybe a ‘decent’ or even a 'not half bad’, but a 'good’? Considering it came from him, it was one of the highest compliments she’d ever been paid in her life, and she smiled from ear to ear. "I was _better_ , of course," he added, haughtily, "But you put Rob and Dave to shame. And they were all state last year.”

“You’re so arrogant and self-absorbed,” she said, trying to sound mad, but still glowing a little.

"I was trying to compliment you,” he said, sounding like he actually meant it and felt oddly wounded. Maybe he dealt with people so infrequently, he just didn't know how. “Honestly. You were good. _Are_ good. Whatever. Point is, you know your stuff, you make well-reasoned arguments, and you think quick on your feet. I didn’t see the whole lawyer thing before, to be honest. I kind of do now. You make me forget you’re a cheerleader sometimes, O'Connell.”

“And a girl?” She hadn’t meant to sound so insecure, but that moment just before the debate had stuck with her and pissed her off so much. She hadn’t encountered something like that before - someone thinking she wasn’t up to the task because just she was a girl. Not even her older brother. 

“I don’t think of you that way, and you know it.” Sexism as a topic was way too heavy and extremely uncomfortable, so she tried to lighten the conversation and joke around it, back to something more fun.

“What, as a girl?”

“Oh, I’m well aware you’re a girl, O'Connell…”

His tone had changed, and he’d meant something by that, but he was so impossible to read so she had no idea what it was. Although she had an idea... The silence just after that was uncomfortable and dragged on longer than could be brushed off as a mere pause. Time for a less subtle change in topic.

“What’d you call for, anyway, Fleischman?”

“Oh. Uh. You know, just to… talk. About the debate today, I mean. And…well, um… how was…uh… your, uh, cheerleading… thing?”

“Which one?”

“The one I saw you at last week. The one where that guy spent the whole time with his eyes glued to your…”

“The track meet? It was fine. What do you care anyway?” Now that Blake was the topic, she considered whether to say what was on the tip of her tongue, but she was too excited to keep it from tumbling out. “He asked me to prom, you know.”

“Who did? That blond guy? The starer?”

“Yeah, Blake. I’ve been working on him for weeks, too. He’s on-again off-again with my friend Debbie, but I must have caught him between -”

“C'mon, O'Connell. I told you, you can do better than that guy.”

“He happens to be one of the most popular guys in school,” Maggie said, flailing for the upper hand again. He was right, which is what bothered her most. She _could_ do better, and this _was_ settling, to a certain extent. She mostly wanted a fun fling this last summer home, but she didn’t want to put any work into it. Or get some guy hooked on her. She’d been out with lots of guys and even had gone all the away with a couple, but she felt like her inexperience was going to be a liability, competing for college guys. Blake was good looking enough, got invited to all the right parties, was easy to get along with, and was by no means a social liability - a guy she wouldn’t mind having on her 'list’ but also someone she wouldn’t really miss, either, when it ended in August. “And anyway, I’m not interested in marrying this guy. I’m leaving for college in three months, and I just want something fun and easy and… why I am even telling you this? It really isn’t one bit your business what I do and who I do it with.”

“You don’t even like him enough - even now, before you go out - to hope it’s gonna last? What’s the point, even?”

“The point, Fleischman, not that you’d be able to follow this is to have a… Nevermind. I’m under no obligation to explain any of this to you. None of it is your business.”

“Okay, okay, forget I said anything. I didn’t call to fight with you about which empty-headed country clubber you’re planning on wasting your summer with.”

“Thank you for that information-devoid judgment about my dating life. How are you wasting _your_ summer?”

“I’m pre-med, O'Connell. I’m starting at Columbia this fall to finish my undergrad. I have to take a bunch more chemistry this summer. That’s what I 'do’. Learn. Learn, so I can keep going to school so I can become a doctor someday. It’s what I’ve been working towards since I was 13 years old.”

“No offense, but your life sounds incredibly boring.”

“Gee, thanks. Why would I be offended by someone saying something like that?”

“Come on. It _is_. And it’s your last summer, too. You should let loose some. Live a little. Try to have fun for once.”

“Oh, well, I appreciate your candid assessment, and you've prompted me to totally reevaluate my life right now, as we speak. In fact, I’ve decided to remap my plans, completely based on the wise principles espoused by a cheerleading homecoming queen.”

“Hey, you remembered right finally! Homecoming, not prom.” She smiled. Why was this so fun, trading insults with Joel Fleischman? “You're just mad because you know you’re boring.”

“So what are you going to do that’s so fascinating, by comparison?”

“I don’t know. Hang out with Blake, I hope. Go to parties. Work.”

“ _You_? You have a job?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Your dad’s the CEO of one of the 10 biggest companies in the world. You guys have to be loaded. You don’t have to work.”

“I _like_ working. My parents go away every weekend in the summer, and I work every weekday. It’s perfect. I got promoted, too. I’m head lifeguard this summer, too.”

“Really? You? A lifeguard?" 

"Yeah. Last 3 summers, I’ve guarded. And now I’m in charge.”

“Well, God help that club, then, with you in charge of anything. I can just see it. You’re power hungry and a walking liability. You just found a way to get paid sitting up on a throne in a swimming suit and getting a tan while the guys ogle you.”

“You _would_ think that. I’m good. Really. I have 3 saves to my name, thank you.”

“Yeah?” He sounded bemused but also a little impressed by that. "The many layers of a legally-minded cheerleader homecoming queen..."

“'Course it doesn't hurt that I look good in the uniform, too.” 

“I bet,” he murmured, before hastily moving to change the topic. "You know what, I completely forgot to ask you…" 

Ha! She _knew_ he’d thought she was cute. Not that she cared. She realized, though, that she really hadn’t want him to hang up and had been stringing their conversation along...and now so was he. The question of why popped into her head, but she’d gotten pretty adept at pushing uncomfortable thoughts out of her mind - particularly about him - and did it again, as she laid down and pulled the covers up around her shoulders, smiling as she settled in to argue with him. They talked until midnight, as usual, only now minus the excuse of the debate. Even without it, she knew he’d call again tomorrow. And looked forward to it.


	5. Chapter 5

“Fleischman?”

“Yeah? O'Connell, is that you?”

“Yeah. You busy right now?” She shifted the phone from one ear to another, scraping her chin with whatever cheap, spiky plants comprised her hideous wrist corsage. She yanked it off and tossed it into the nearby bushes. She could hear him laugh as she started twisting the metal phone cord nervously.

“This is quite the elaborate setup for a joke, even for you. Taking time out of your evening, to call me and ask if I’m busy at 9 o'clock on a Saturday night, all so you can tell me what an embarrassingly empty social calendar I keep. Is that what this is?”

“No, you idiot. This isn’t a joke, and I was only trying to be polite by pretending to ask. You’re the one I called _because_ I knew you wouldn’t be busy. Look, I don’t wanna argue with you about your lack of popularity right now. I need you to come get me.”

“ _Get_ you? Get you what? Also, isn’t this… yeah, it is. Aren’t you supposed to be at the prom tonight?”

“Yeah. It’s a long story. Just come get me, okay?”

“Wait, hold on. Are you okay? Where are you even?”

“At _prom_ , Fleischman. Like I said. Now come get -”

“That’s an event, not a location! Are you at the school? Or-”

“Oh God, that’s right. You’ve never been. And here you are, mad at me, when you’re the one whose social life is a complete…” Maybe insulting him again right now wasn’t smart. Beggars couldn’t quite be choosers, after all. “I’m at the Civic Center, okay? On Spruce. Just come get me.”

When he pulled up ten minutes later in a dark sort-of-late model sedan, he smiled playfully at her as she slid into the passenger seat and slumped down next to him. Boy, he really wasn’t getting it was he? He was usually so good with unspoken signals and clues, too. But oblivious, thank God. She did _not_ want to discuss this. Especially with him. 

“In the interest of setting the record straight, I was out of town last year. For prom. My cousin’s wedding in Maine. I would have had a date. Elaine really wanted to go. And the year before that, I was still technically a sophomore, and so was she, so we couldn’t have gone, even if I had wanted to. So before you get too comfortable feeling superior…” He trailed off when everything seemed to finally register. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

Okay, so she’d been crying. A _little_. She’d hid in an out-of-the-way bathroom, waited until she stopped, washed her face, and touched her makeup up before rushing outside to call him. He usually called her in the evenings, but she’d had a knack for memorizing long strings of numbers and knew his from having called him twice. He was the perfect choice - she knew he’d be home on a Saturday night, for one. For two, it was dark, and he was usually so ridiculously imperceptive about appearances that she figured he wouldn’t notice. She had been two for two until he’d gotten a better look at her face. She sure as hell wasn’t answering his question and getting into _any_ of this with him, though.

“What’d you say to your parents when you left?” She sat up straight and tried to look more pulled together while she unsubtly changed the topic to something much more fact-based.

“Uh, nothing,” he said, giving her another unsettled sidelong glance across the car before pulling away from the curb. “They’re still at dinner. I left note and said a friend had something come up.” 

"Your parents have a more active social life that you do, Fleischman..."

He said nothing, only reached behind him and wordlessly retrieved a tissue which he offered her and she snapped from his hands sulkily.

Sympathy from anyone made her uncomfortable; sympathy from Joel Fleischman was far too embarrassing to be withstood for even a second. She gave him a teasing look to try to drive the point home that she’d really like him to treat her like she was fine.

“And they’re never gonna believe that story. You, having a friend, I mean.”

He forced a small smile, but his eyes kept darting around her face, looking concerned. “Look, did something happ-”

“What kind of a teenage boy drives around with a box of _Kleenex_ in their car anyway?” She held it out in front of her like it contained a dead spider. The contrast between Blake’s abject disinterest in her feelings and Joel’s unstiflable worry was making her inexplicably sad. Like hell was she going to cry in front of Joel, though. It was bad enough she’d cried, period. And she honestly wasn’t even sad, just embarrassed at being betrayed - twice over - in such a public way. She usually made it a point not to be in situations that she didn’t completely control, so this wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t let down her guard a little. _And lowered your standards_ , her brain reminded her, _like you always do with boys_.

“This is my mom’s. I don’t have a car.” They’d come to the stop sign at where the center’s drive met the main road. No one was coming, but he didn’t pull forward. Instead, he slid the shifter into park and turned his body towards her. “O'Connell, _are_ you okay?”

He looked so sincere, so concerned, that she almost let the whole story come tumbling out, tears and all, but stopped herself. “Just do me a favor - stop asking me questions and focus on driving. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

He looked at her a long moment before nodding to himself and taking the car out of park. “Fine. But at least put your seatbelt on,” he said, cautiously. “There’s a reason your dad puts makes them standard in these things. Do you have any idea what kind of trauma the human body endures, going through a windshield? Or when hitting its head on the dash? And that’s not even considering injuries like lacerations. Concussion. Perforated liver. Broken collarbone.”

She rolled her eyes. “I might as well have had my mom pick me up.” She pulled on the seatbelt and latched it as he pulled onto the road. They rode in silence for several minutes. She watched as each streetlight’s canopy slowly illuminated the car, filled it with unnatural orange light, and then dimmed back into darkness again. Their rhythm and the silence was calming. Finally. 

“Doesn’t this thing have a radio?” She finally broke the silence with a carefully chosen judgmental complaint, to remind him that, even if she was willing to talk again, it wasn’t going to be pleasant for him, especially if he kept with his previous line of personal questions.

He gestured at the center of the console. “Be my guest.” He didn’t say another word, but she watched him give her weary side glances every few streetlights as she scrolled through the stations on the dial. She gave up midway through and just left it on WRIF at half-volume. She felt herself itching to fight with him.

“You missed your turn back there,” she said a block after he’d crossed over the road towards her part of town. Sure she could have warned him sooner, but she wasn’t exactly eager to get home before 10 and have her mom give her the same look he kept tossing her way.

“I didn’t,” he said mildly, signaling to move into the right lane from the left.

“Are you turning here?”

“No. Just changing lanes.” He flicked the signal off after he was firmly ensconced in the new lane. Why was he so damn placid? It was irritating as hell, with as mad as she was.

“Who signals their lane changes?”

“Page twenty-five of the Michigan drivers’ handbook. You might try reading it sometime.”

“Oh give me a break. Not even cops do that. And you did miss your turn. My house is back there. Off Lake Shore.”

“How would I know that, having never been there? I’m headed somewhere else, anyway.”

“Oh _God_ , where are you taking me? The last thing I need, after everything else, is to be a hostage to whatever happens on your usual Saturday nights.”

“You hungry?” He’d studiously ignored at least five scraps of argumentative bait and seemed incredibly calm. Which irked her even more.

“ _No_.” She was, though. They’d gone to dinner before the dance, of course - she, Blake, and the rest of their group of friends. The other girls were playing dainty feminine eaters, so she’d just had salad to keep from standing out. Half a salad, at that. _No one wants a date who can out-eat them, dear_. Another pearl of wisdom from her helpful mother. And dinner, such as it was, had been hours ago, so she was starving. Of course, she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of guessing right. She glared at him instead.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Ice cream?”

“What?”

“With Elaine, it was always ice cream when she was really upset.”

“So you just presumed all girls are exactly the same? And I am _not_ upset.”

“Fine. I didn’t mean to…” He came to a stop at the light in front of them and ran one hand nervously through his hair, eyes avoiding hers and glued to his dash. “Look. Something obviously happened tonight, and you don’t have to tell me what it was, but I know if you called _me_ about it, it had to be pretty bad. And I know I can’t take you home yet because if you’d been okay with going straight home, you’d have just called your parents. But you didn’t which means you want them to think you’re still out at the dance and everything’s fine. And even if you aren’t hungry, I am. So you can either be along for the ride or…well, no, that’s your only option. So take it or leave it. But I would honor any food preference you had. Within reason.”

She couldn’t picture Joel with a girlfriend before. He was hostile, self-centered, egotistical, and especially obnoxious. But now? It was almost like he had feelings. He seemed genuinely concerned about her. And dedicated to fixing whatever was wrong. Who’d broken up with who, she suddenly wondered, Elaine or him? If they’d been people she knew, the whole school would know every detail of their relationship and its demise already. The non-popular kids had it so good - no one gossiped when the tuba player in the marching band ended things with the secretary of the Latin club. She tried again to picture Joel dumping someone and couldn’t quite see it. For as self-centered and rude as he usually was, he could be quite sweet. Like right now, for instance. 

“Pizza,” she said quietly, breaking into the silence a minute later as the light changed to green. He’d earned a peace offering for piecing that all together. And bailing her out of this nightmare evening in the first place. And she really was hungry.

“What?” It seemed like he’d forgotten his offer. Or given up on her acquiescing, which was probably more likely.

“With me, it’s pizza. And I _am_ starving.” She leaned his way and gave his shoulder a friendly bump with hers before returning to slump against the car door. “Thanks for coming, Fleischman. Not that you had anything better to do…”

“Right,” he said, and she saw him smile out of the corner of her eye.

Later, in the back booth of Vince’s, they split a pizza and about five sodas each. They were both natural talkers, and fast ones at that, but the addition of caffeine had them churning through topics without a moment’s pause in between. He thought so fast; it was exhilarating just keeping up with him. Eventually, her story did finally come tumbling out - she and Debbie switching dance partners, Blake and Debbie making out right there on the dance floor next to her, and then half the school seeing them leave together, with Maggie just standing there stunned while it happened, the center of everyone’s attention. And pity. Only now, she didn’t feel like crying. In hindsight, she was glad to have figured it out before wasting her whole summer chasing after him. He wasn’t _that_ cute. And Debbie was a pain anyway.

They nursed their last sodas after the pizza was long gone, sitting and talking until Vince’s closed at 1. Normally, on a big party night like this, she’d be hammered, toasted, or both, but this was shaping up to be surprisingly okay as a substitute. She couldn’t imagine being under the influence of anything around Joel, either, if for no other reason that she wouldn’t be as able to one up him.

After their late dinner, they drove aimlessly through town, killing time, still talking with the radio’s quiet soundtrack filling their infrequent silences. She caught him hiding a yawn at 1:45.

“You tired?”

“Little bit. What time would you get home from something like this? Normally, I mean?”

“Depends on who’s hosting the after party, I guess.”

“After party?”

“Yeah, Fleischman, you know, the after party. Where everyone goes after the dance or the game or whatever.”

“Why not just party at the party party?”

“Because nothing fun’s going to happen at a school event. I can’t believe you’ve finished high school and never gone to an after party. You wasted four years of your life, I hope you know.”

“ _Two_ years. And my medical degree from Columbia will someday beg to differ with you. It’s not cheerleading, I grant you…”

“Well, you can take me home, now. It’s way past curfew, so my parents won’t suspect a thing if I show up now.”

He just laughed in response.

“What’s so funny about that?”

“Nothing. I just never thought I’d be sneaking around fully dressed and stone sober with a girl, actively trying to make her parents think we’ve been doing nefarious things until late at night.” He signaled right. “Lake Shore, right?”

“Yeah. You going to be in trouble?”

“No. I’ll just tell my mom the truth. An abbreviated version, at least. A friend of mine got broken up with at prom and needed to talk for awhile. Something like that.”

“Blake and I did not ‘break up’. We weren’t ever going out in the first place. I need a summer fling. That’s all he was.”

“I’m fairly sure my mom has no way of verifying any of this. So it’s not going to be a problem.”

“So, what, she’ll just believe you, with a mundane story like that?”

“I’ve never in my life given her any reason that she knows about to doubt my honesty. So yes. She will.”

“You’re so boring,” Maggie said, balancing her palm against the wind out the window, letting Bernoulli’s principle work its magic and hold it up as Joel accelerated and the wind flow past the window increased. This was how planes got off the ground, she knew - speed, drag, and lift, all working in concert to perform an everyday miracle. Her mind, unaccountably, conjured the image of that little red and white plane. It popped in every now and again, ever since she’d first taken notice of it, just before meeting Joel just a month ago. And, like Joel, it was such an alien thing she’d suddenly had thrust into her life, but one she felt increasingly tangled up with. And inexplicably happy to be so tangled. Same with Joel. Sort of. She suddenly thought she might like to fly someday - in a little plane just like that one. 

“You _say_ that. But how would you know for sure?”

For a second, she almost thought he was talking about flying, and whether she wanted to do it as badly as she was suddenly thinking that she did. It took her a moment to reorient herself and reenter their conversation.

“What? Oh, that you’re boring? Well, I will give you that you are a pretty decent conversationalist, and that I usually enjoy talking to you. For some reason. But your life is boring. That's just a fact. Next street on the left is ours okay? And if you want proof, consider the fact that you’ve never come home drunk or stayed out way past curfew parked in a car somewhere with a date…”

“I’ve done both. Several times. And worse,” he said, turning left.

“You have _not_.”

“I have," he said, grinning. "It’s not really up for debate, either, O’Connell. It’s an objective fact.”

“But you said you never told you mom…”

“I said 'that she knows about’. My mom thinks I walk on water. I’d like to keep it that way. I’m not like you, O'Connell - rebelling just to get attention and make a point. I’ve done plenty of reckless things in my life. _Fun_ things. I’m just smart enough I don’t get caught. Which one’s yours?”

“Gray one here on the left.” Rebelling just to get attention? Like he knew a damn thing about her.

As he stopped the car, and her mind was all stirred up and confused. Blake, kissing Deb. Joel, living a double life that was quite the opposite the nerdy goody-goody who she’d thought was sitting beside her. That damn little plane. Whether he might be on to something with the idea that she only did some of what she did to get a moment of her busy and self-absorbed parents’ attention. The memory of every pitying eye on what she hoped was a dignified exit from that dance floor, when she’d gotten far too much attention from her peers. The dawning realization that not only were she and Blake not happening now, but that she’d lost a friend. Who had never really felt like a friend at all but who she called her best friend anyway. And how that was suddenly very sad. Whether Elaine dumped Joel or if it was the other way around. And why. How cute Joel was and how he’d looked at her at dinner tonight. He touched her arm, waking her from the hurricane of confusing thoughts swirling in her mind.

“Walk you up?” His eyes had that glint of gentleness - of concern - again, and she bristled immediately.

“I can find my way to my own front door, Fleischman.”

“I’m sure you can. I more meant I’d be willing to spend another thirty seconds helping you with this 'I had a wonderful night and a great date to the prom’ charade. I’m just saying I’d walk you to the door. If you wanted me to.”

“Doing that actually would _blow_ my cover, if anything. Guys I date don’t usually bother walking me to the front door, hoping for a little goodnight kiss.” She opened the passenger door and unbuckled her seat belt. Before she stood, she turned to face him, ready to thank him again.

“Anytime, O'Connell,” he said, sparing her having to broach the subject. They shared a smile, and she left the car, shut the door, and started up her parents’ front walk.

“Hey,” he called through the still-oprn car window, and she turned around. “At the risk of sounding redundant, I _did_ tell you you could do better that guy. You might listen to me next time. And you look beautiful in that dress.”

She rolled her eyes, turned, and walked up to her front door. She opened it quietly and ran immediately into her mother, who grounded her based on the smile on her face.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey, Fleischman," Maggie said cheerfully, pulling open the front door. "Took you long enough."

She'd been mulling it over all week. She'd long ago given up on figuring out why she couldn’t let this go and had been trying to talk herself out of the impulse, bizarre as it was. Midweek, she gave up and decided it actually made a lot of sense, so rather than waste more energy fighting it, she'd give in, make a plan, and make it work. She'd called him this morning and invited him over before she lost her nerve. She wasn't quite sure how to secure his buy-in, but surely it wouldn't be that tough of a sell.

"Oh thank God this is your house. I've only seen it that once, and it was dark. I was ninety percent sure I'd take a wrong turn and..." He paused as he took off his ballcap, looking up in wonder at the O'Connells' entryway. " _This_ is your house?!"

"Well, my parents'. Obviously." She watched him make a slow turn, looking at the ceiling or walls or...something before turning back to look at her. By the time his eyes had met hers again, she'd narrowed hers suspiciously. This was already not going how she'd planned it at all. " _What_?"

"I've just never seen a place like this. Outside of a magazine, that is." He was combing one hand through his hair absentmindedly, nervously, and had gone back to gazing in awe around the room. Hmmm. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all. "I mean, I like it."

"Oh, shut up," she said, turning and starting up the stairs.

"No, I do. You guys are clearly comfortable being in the upper tenth of one percent." She paused at the first landing in time for his eyes to settle on her again, and he gave her that lopsided, teasing smile. She flip flopped again - no, this was a _great_ idea. And it was now or never.

"C'mon," she said impatiently, starting up the stairs again. He started followed her, almost automatically, but, true to form, started questioning why before the first step.

"Come on where?"

"Upstairs."

"Why? What's up there that's so important? And while we're at it, you mind telling me why I'm here? That's probably the best question to start with, come to think of it. I've never even been to your house, really, and then you called me this morning out of the blue and said to come over and-"

"Yeah. What took you so long, anyway? I called you an hour ago."

"I walked."

"Oh...no car. Right."

"Yeah. But, really, O'Connell, you wanna tell me why I-"

"Just get up here, Fleischman. I called you 'cause I need to talk to you about something. We can talk more in my room."

She could almost hear him screech to a halt on the landing below her.

"Your room? You sure? Am I even allowed in there?"

Maggie rolled her eyes as she came to the too step. "Well, I am inviting you. It's hardly like you're kicking down my barricaded door and-"

"I meant your parents," he said, resuming following her, despite his protestations. He was looking around the stairway uncomfortably, as if at any moment her dad was going to spring out of hiding and strangle him. "I'm sure you'll gleefully point out that it's been a long time, and it has, but I did have a girlfriend once not too terribly long ago. And she and I were not allowed in my room together. Or hers."

"Well, that's a stupid rule. And anyway, my parents aren't here," Maggie shouted back his way as she rounded the corner into her room. "They're at the lake this weekend. Every weekend between Memorial Day and Labor Day, like clockwork. They're gone at one on Friday and show back up in time for Dad's tee time at noon on Sunday." She plopped down backwards in her desk chair and put her chin atop her folded arms, watching the door. When he appeared, he stopped at her threshold, as if there were an invisible barrier there.

"They just leave you here alone? You don't ever go with them?"

"No way. My dad fishes with some of the old guys up there, and my mom cleans the cabin and redecorates. Or goes antiquing. There's no TV and no phone. It's boring as hell. And anyway, I'm grounded." 

“Why?”

“Prom. Broke curfew. Thanks to you.” She smiled at his semi-terrified expression. "You can come the rest of the way in, Fleischman. I promise I won't tell your mommy you did. Honest. Have a seat," she said, gesturing at the foot of her bed.

He came in and sat down gingerly, as close to the edge as he could possibly manage and still technically qualify as sitting down. His eyes were darting around her room like he were a deep sea explorer, taking in new and sometimes terrifying sights in a world far away from his comfort zone.

"Fleischman?" His eyes snapped up to her, sitting across from him in the chair. She watched him try to pull together as much arrogant confidence as he could. He was really thrown off his game, though, perched on her bed like that. She liked it.

"Right. So what are we talking about?"

"Well, I've been thinking. We're friends, right?"

"Not noticeably."

"Okay, maybe not _friends_ ," she said, sitting upright in the chair, trying to marshal her arguments into a linear outline. "But we've known each other a pretty long time now. Well, not a long time. We talk a lot, though."

"I suppose. But, uh...why?" He had his ball cap in his hands and was now twisting it practically into knots in his lap. Any confidence he'd managed to muster was disappearing with each movement.

"Fleischman, calm _down_. Why are you so nervous anyway?"

She watched him take a breath and look like he was trying to relax. "Sorry. Just... Elaine's parents were strict about... you know... fraternizing, and so..."

"I promise, they aren't here." She smiled and settled her chin back on her arms. "You guys get in trouble or something?" She saw a blush creep across his cheeks. "You two got _caught_?! Ohhhhh... That's not why you broke up with her, is it?" It just slipped out, that question. She hadn't been able to shake it from her mind all week - who dumped who. And why.

"No...and she broke up with me. Unrelated to any, uh, fraternizing that may or may not have taken place. None of which was observed by her parents. Or mine." 

Interesting. She dumped _him_. Why? His dark eyes met hers, and he seemed a little calmer finally. He was smiling again, too. His eyes had that sparkle and were crinkled up at the corners. All doubt was gone; she knew what she wanted, even if she didn't know why. Most importantly, she had a plan. And she might as well just ask him straight out. 

"O'Connell, could you please just tell me why you-"

"We should have sex." Oops. Or _tell_ him. Well, that worked, too. "With each other, I mean," she added hastily, in case somehow that hadn't been completely clear.

He had frozen completely, hat caught mid-twist in his hands, mouth still open. She watched him for several seconds and couldn't have sworn under oath that he was even breathing.

Seizing on his silence, she stood up to pace her room and explain herself more fully. "Look. I want a summer fling. You know that. But I don't have time or energy for a whole relationship. Plus, that whole debacle with Blake and Debbie happened and... and the thing is, Fleischman, I got to thinking and decided you could really use a good fling, too. You just don't realize it. Plus, I mean, like I said, we're friends. Right? Sort of. Or whatever we are, but the point is, I trust you. And you and I have this _incredible_ , undeniable, powerful, chemical draw..."

"We _do_?"

"Yes, this unfettered, animal attraction that... and I know you've noticed it too-"

"I _have_?" He'd unfrozen enough turn his head and watch her hands gesturing wildly, his eyes wide.

"Yes, Fleischman, you have," she said, trying not to sound like she was losing patience with his inability to catch up. "So anyway, we trust each other, we want each other, and we both need this type of a diversion in our lives right now. We're both too busy for dating, and we've both done this before, so it's not like the biggest deal in the world if we-"

"We've both done... _what_ , exactly?"

She sat down next to him, still perched carefully on the edge of her bed. He looked at her like she was an unpredictable wild predator about to strike. "Had sex."

"You've had sex?"

"Sure, who hasn’t? But only a couple of times. And see, that's just my point, Fleischman," she was back on her feet again, gesturing and pacing the room. "That's hardly enough experience. Who wants to try to figure all of this out - how to do this well, what they like, what they don't, all of that, while trying to figure out college and being away from home and taking classes and-"

"Hold on. Hold on. You called me over here this afternoon because you're worried that your college courseload will negatively interfere with your sex life? And you think I can somehow _help_ you with that?!"

"You and I can help _each other_ ," she said, sitting back down next to him. "I mean, look at it like having a study partner, right? We were great together, at debate. And this is basically the same thing."

"No. No it's not."

"It _is_. You know, having someone with you who isn't afraid to give you candid feedback, who can help you see a different point of view, better yourself, sort of help you get it all organized and -"

"Get _sex_ all organized?"

"Yes. Well, no. But, you know what I mean. So," she paused, not entirely sure, really, how to bring this point home, but sort of out of anything new to say on the topic. "What'dya say?"

He stared at her for at least five seconds before talking again. "Run this by me again. You called me over here...to suggest that you and I...might..." He paused, squinting at her, confused. She nodded in a way she hoped was reassuring, to let him know he was on the right track. He closed his eyes for a second and then started talking again. "...that we might... gain carnal knowledge of each other. As kind of a prerequisite to all of the sex you presume you are about to have in college. Is that right?"

"The sex _we_ are about to have in college. Don't tell me you aren't looking forward to getting out of here, away from your parents, going to all the parties, meeting girls where no one cares who's in your room or uses words like 'fraternizing', and-" 

He was looking at her like she was nuts. She frowned. "Oh, come on. Fraternizing is _your_ word, isn't it? Don't tell me what you're most excited about in New York is the Columbia chem lab. You know, Fleischman, with that attitude, it's no wonder it's been awhile for you. Keep it up, and you aren't going to have sex again until you're 35."

"I uh..." He was blushing again. And twisting that damned ball cap. "O'Connell. The thing is...before we go any further down this particular conversational path, you should probably know that...well...um..." She took the cap from his hands and tossed it onto her desk.

" _Stop_ that." Okay, so maybe she sounded a little terse, a little impatient. But most guys would be eager to rush their way around the bases with her once they got the green light, and here she was waving Joel home, and he wanted to overthink and overtalk everything as always. "And spit it out, whatever you're trying to say."

"I've never actually had sex." His eyes were on his shoes, and his voice was quieter than before.

"What?" She stared at him incredulously. "But you and Elaine went out for..."

"Three years," he said quietly, still not looking up.

"Right, so what were you _doing_ all that time? Playing Yahtzee together?!"

His head snapped back up, took one look at her face, and added, with as much pomposity as he had, "I'll have you know, we did just about everything _but_."

"But, Fleischman. 'Everything but' kind of stops short of...well, everything _fun_."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"So was that her? Or you? I mean, the one who didn't want to? If you could have done it, you wouldn't have? Or would you?"

"In a hot second." She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes and saw his dimple. She knew then that this was in the bag; she'd already talked him into it. He just needed to decide to agree with her. "So if - theoretically - we were to do this... how's it gonna work exactly?"

"Oh, come on. If you've done 'everything but', you aren't _that_ innocent..."

"No, no, I think I could figure out that part pretty quick... I meant, how's this going to work? You and me?"

"You and _I_ , you mean?"

He looked annoyed that she'd caught a rare grammatical lapse of his, and he stood up to resume the pacing she'd ended moments ago.

" _Us_ , I mean. Like you said, 'friends' probably isn't the right word, but I... I mean, you're the furthest thing possible from my type..."

"And vice versa."

"If we do this, you don’t actually want to, I don’t know, start dating or anything? Right? Because that'd be crazy."

"Social suicide," she added, nodding in agreement.

"But...but what if one of us meets someone else?"

"Then we stop. I really doubt that happens, anyway. I'm not looking for a relationship - with anyone - and you...well, you're the most antisocial person I've ever met. I doubt any girl would willingly - "

“Other than _you_ , you mean?”

She glared back at him.

"But what if we end up-"

"Fleischman, we haven't so much as kissed, and you’re off on a tangent, drawing up ground rules already?"

"That's a good point, too. We haven't even kissed. In fact, until two minutes ago, I had no idea you had any kind of attraction to me whatsoever..." He looked suddenly smug. "Not that I'm not flattered..."

"Get over yourself. Anything I feel about you is entirely unintentional and outside of my control, I promise you. And you want me just as bad as I want you."

"Bad _ly_ ," he corrected her, blushing furiously, confirming her accusation. "Not that I'm agreeing with you. Because I've never really given it much thought," he said. _Liar_ , she thought to herself, rolling her eyes. "But what if we just aren't compatible...like _that_?"

"I wouldn't be degrading myself by suggesting this if I weren't completely sure we are. But fine," she said, and for a second, the finality in her voice made him look worried, like he'd blown his chance. "You're so worried? Then kiss me."

"What? Here? Now?"

"Yes. Sit back down and kiss me, Fleischman. If we hate it, we call this whole thing off. If we like it, then, well I will get to end the search for my summer diversion. And you will get a chance to relax a little, de-stress, take a break from your endless chemistry. And have sex, finally. I mean, you're 18 years old - you're well past due. To the point it's almost embarrassing."

"Thanks a lot. Your well-reasoned opinions mean the world to me, as I'm sure you know."

"And it should be pretty easy to pull off," she continued, ignoring him. "Logistically, I mean. Like I said, my parents are gone every weekend. And there's 14 weekends left until Labor Day. Including this one. So. If we're gonna do this, time's a'wasting. Whatd'ya say?"

"So you really want me to kiss you?" He said, sitting back down cautiously beside her. "As some sort of a rushed job interview, to be your summer fling?"

"Yup," she said, putting her hand on his knee. He eyed it cautiously. "Tell me the truth. You've really never felt this... _pull_ between us?"

He kept his eyes on her hand. "Well, I mean... you know you're obviously _very_ pretty, and..."

"That's not what I mean." She moved closer to him, hand still perched on his knee and leaned against his shoulder. "Look, I know you're lying. You've noticed this, too - you can't have helped it. It's been there since the day we met. And I'll be the first to admit that it doesn't make sense, us being attracted to each other. Particularly for me." That had finally garnered an eyeroll and a real smile from him. Just not eye contact still. "But we are. And even if we aren't friends, that doesn't mean that we aren't friend _ly_. And you were very nice to me last weekend, after the whole thing with Blake and-"

"O'Connell. You're babbling. Shut up for a second." Joel looked up, half-smiling like he did sometimes. His gaze lingered on her lips for a second before his eyes met hers. "Fine. I’ll be completely honest and tell you...well, that you're right. You drive me absolutely _crazy_. In two very different, two very oppositional ways. Okay? I told you. Now you have to tell me one more time. Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. Absolutely. No question."

"Well... okay." He put his hand to her cheek, and she jumped at the sudden movement.

"What are you doing?!"

He looked exasperated and dropped his hand to her shoulder. " _Kissing_ you! Or trying to. Weren't you just saying I should-"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I just didn’t expect you to suddenly -"

" _Sudden_? One minute ago, you were rushing me to hurry up and do that as some kind of a litmus test so we could talk about whether we..."

"Litmus test? Only you could find a chemistry analogy. God, why am I attracted to you? You totally lack every bit of normal, human social awareness and-"

He'd leaned in close. "Seriously," he said, really smiling now and he drew his hand back up to her face. "Shut up, O'Connell."

She closed her eyes, and his lips met hers softly, tentatively. He kissed her gently once, changed angles slightly, and then kissed her again. And then again. Then, his kisses started to blur together into one, long, amazing kiss. Before she could even think, her arms were around him and his hand was in her hair,

“Other than you, you mean?”

She glared back at him.

"But what if we end up-"

"Fleischman, we haven't so much as kissed, and you’re off on a tangent, drawing up ground rules already?"

"That's a good point, too. We haven't even kissed. In fact, until two minutes ago, I had no idea you had any kind of attraction to me whatsoever..." He looked suddenly smug. "Not that I'm not flattered..."

"Get over yourself. Anything I feel about you is entirely unintentional and outside of my control, I promise you. And you want me just as bad as I want you."

"Badly," he corrected her, blushing furiously, confirming her accusation. "Not that I'm agreeing with you. Because I've never really given it much thought," he said. Liar, she thought to herself, rolling her eyes. "But what if we just aren't compatible...like that?"

"I wouldn't be degrading myself by suggesting this if I weren't completely sure we are. But fine," she said, and for a second, the finality in her voice made him look worried, like he'd blown his chance. "You're so worried? Then kiss me."

"What? Here?"

"Yes. Sit back down and kiss me, Fleischman. If we hate it, we call this whole thing off. If we like it, then, well I will get to end the search for my summer diversion. And you will get a chance to relax a little, de-stress, take a break from your endless chemistry. And have sex, finally. I mean, you're 18 years old - you're well past due. To the point it's almost embarrassing."

"Thanks a lot. Your well-reasoned opinions mean the world to me, as I'm sure you know."

"And it should be pretty easy to pull off," she continued, ignoring him. "Logistically, I mean. Like I said, my parents are gone every weekend. And there's 14 weekends left until Labor Day. Including this one. So. If we're gonna do this, time's a'wasting. Whatd'ya say?"

"So you really want me to kiss you?" He said, sitting back down cautiously beside her. "As some sort of a rushed job interview, to be your summer fling?"

"Yup," she said, putting her hand on his knee. He eyed it cautiously. "Tell me the truth. You've really never felt this...pull between us?"

He kept his eyes on her hand. "Well, I mean... you know you're obviously very pretty, and..."

"That's not what I mean." She moved closer to him, hand still perched on his knee and leaned against his shoulder. "Look, I know you're lying. You've noticed this, too - you can't have helped it. It's been there since the day we met. And I'll be the first to admit that it doesn't make sense, us being attracted to each other. Particularly for me." That had finally garnered an eyeroll and a real smile from him. Just not eye contact still. "But we are. And even if we aren't friends, that doesn't mean that we aren't friendly. And you were very sweet last weekend, after the whole thing with Blake and-"

"O'Connell. You're babbling. Shut up for a second." Joel looked up, half-smiling like he did sometimes. His gaze lingered on her lips for a second before his eyes met hers. "I’ll be completely honest and tell you...well, that you're right. You drive me absolutely crazy. In two very different, two very oppositional ways. Okay? I told you. Now you have to tell me one more time. Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Well... okay." He put his hand to her cheek, and she jumped at the sudden movement.

"What are you doing?!"

He looked exasperated and dropped his hand to her shoulder. "Kissing you! Or trying to. Weren't you just saying I should-"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I just didn’t expect you to suddenly -"

"Sudden? One minute ago, you were rushing me to hurry up and do that as some kind of a litmus test so we could talk about whether we..."

"Litmus test? Only you could find a chemistry analogy. God, why am I attracted to you? You totally lack every bit of normal, human social awareness and-"

He'd leaned in close. "Seriously," he said, really smiling now and he drew his hand back up to her face. "Shut up, O'Connell."

She closed her eyes, and his lips met hers softly, tentatively. He kissed her gently once, changed angles slightly, and then kissed her again. And then again. Then, his kisses started to blur together into one, long, amazing kiss. Before she could even think, her arms were around him and his hand was in her hair, pulling her closer. Holy shit, could he kiss. Why had she been questioning this all week? This was a very, very, _very_ good idea. And she'd have to kill him if he didn't agree about that at the end of this kiss. She didn't know how long they'd been at it when he pulled back abruptly, breathing hard, eyes wide.

"Fleischman? Oh my God..."

" _Oh my God_ , O'Connell..."

That was the full extent of their conversation...and their agreement. She'd found her summer fling. And that afternoon was the last time Joel could claim to have done everything but...


End file.
